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The Long Goodbye: A Family Copes With Alzheimer's Disease (By Boston Wallace, aged 13 1/2) by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado
Tuesday, September 30, 2003
A young boy, aged 13 1/2, writes about his grandpa, Grady Morrison Wallace, who has Alzheimer's disease.
Grady Morrison is one of my dearest friends (and favorites here at the Den; thought I would "borrow" his name for one of my characters! Hope you don't mind, Grady! :D).
My name is Boston Pennington Wallace, and I am a typical teenaged boy: that is to say, I like to play video games, hang out at the mall or play B-ball with my friends at the park, spend time on the computer and surfing the 'Net, read mysteries, and doodle whenever time suffices. I even LOOK like a normal teenaged boy: I am fairly tall for my age (but not OVERLY tall!) and weigh about 125 pounds, and I have curly black hair, dark brown eyes, and an acne-pocked face (I have always had a problem with pimples, ever since I was eleven, two years now).
I live with my family in a brownstone here in Boston, Massachussetts (WHY do you think they named their oldest kid..me..BOSTON? My parents absolutely LOVE it here!); I am the oldest of six kids. I have two younger brothers named Teague Wilson (12) and Tyrese LaShane (10), and four younger sisters named Abigail Danae' (9), Rica Heather(Erica is her name, but we call her Rica; she is 8), Jasmine Patrice (7), and the "baby" of the family, Berenice ("Neecie") Timberly, who is five (and is special needs; she has c.p. and is in a wheelchair; she can't walk or talk). My mom is named Kenya Africa, and she is a teacher, and my dad is named Grady Morrison (he was named after Grandpa; Grandpa is his daddy).
I get along with my family quite well, but ever since Grandpa came, our lives have been turned upside down. You see, Grandpa has Alzheimer's, which has really affected him both mentally and physically. He can't take care of himself that well (he has always been a clean, fastidious person, but lately, he has been letting himself go, and he is really starting to smell, if you know what I mean; he won't bathe, and he stinks; I don't like being around him when he smells like unwashed gym socks!), and he tries to cook (but has already managed to nearly burn the stove down; twice last week we had to call the fire department so they could put out the fire in the kitchen, and now the kitchen is off limits, thanks in part to the damage that Grandpa caused!). He also calls Mom Shirley ("Shirley" was his dead daughter's name; she was his only daughter; she was daddy's sister; she died by committing suicide over a particularly nasty divorce), and he still thinks it is the 1980's. He asks about President Reagan, and he still complains about the "punk rockers" invading the music scene; he has no clue that it is now 2003. He will also be up at all hours of the night, and he will be cussing at the top of his lungs in the process because he can't find his "goddamn" jacket, and he is also grousing because he fell over the "goldurn cat" again (and we have no cat). He probably fell on his cane, and he probably thought the cane was a cat. He does that sometimes.
Grandpa used to live with Shirley and Ron (her ex) before they got divorced, and he had been doing quite well for himself since HIS wife, Verna, died of cancer about 15 years back, but then the divorce (and Shirley's death) happened, and this was when he first started experiencing memory problems. At first, it was only minor instances, but as time went on, it steadily got a lot worse; and it has been a slow, but steady, decline ever since. Now Grandpa won't bathe or take care of himself, and he has to be watched every waking minute or else he may again set the kitchen on fire in his attempts to cook for himself, or God knows what else. Just the other day, we found him sitting in the yard, crying his eyes out, and he had no clothes on; I don't know what he was crying about or what he was thinking, but he really was upset. It took an awful lot of coaxing on our part to get him back inside and to calm him.
I want him to go to a nursing home, but dad won't hear of it. He hates the thought of him sitting in a wheelchair and being ignored while overworked (and underpaid) staff deal with other patients, or his having to eat grey-colored, bland-tasting food while chirpy-voiced recreational therapists strive to get the residents involved in some boring or inane activity. I have tried to discuss this with dad on several fronts, but all he does is cuss at me and tell me that I am stupid for suggesting even an idea. He is very close to his dad, and I think seeing his dad being sick and infirm is the hardest. He already has one handicapped child to deal with; now he has to deal with a grown man that acts more like a child with every passing day. It is like Grandpa is "growing backwards", and it is all very frightening to see (and deal with).
Grandpa used to be a lot of fun: he'd bring us kids treats whenever he'd come to visit; but now he is a shell of his former self, and it is like he doesn't even know us any longer. He looks at us like we are some bugs in a collection, and there is no hint of recognition in his face, even after we have told him a million times who we are. He also has the body odor problem I already mentioned, and he is prone to wanderings at night or screaming his head off at us, cussing at us like we are nothing more than "punk brats" and have nothing better to do than to "torment a poor, sick old man". He also can't cook for himself anymore, and he confuses simple directions ("off" for "on", "over" for under", etc.), and has already managed to nearly burn the kitchen several times in his attempts to cook for himself. He also falls a lot, and even though he has a cane, he refuses to use it; or if he does, he drags it alongside him, and he ends up tripping over it. He has had to go to the emergency room several times for bumps to his head or suspected broken bones (but they only ended up being bad bruises, thank goodness!).
When the doctor told us he had Alzheimer's, I thought it was really nothing (I only associated his memory problems with getting old), but then he came to live with us, and I have realized that Alzheimer's is nothing to mess around with; and when it hits, it affects EVERYONE in the family, not just the person who has it. It is like a "long and painful goodbye", and it is like the grandfather we once knew is steadily disappearing, and he is becoming more and more of a stranger. He is like a totally different person, even though this person has Grandpa's body and physical features. Now he has really gotten bad, and our family has really suffered because of this.
I am really embarrassed about my Grandpa's situation, and at times I am ashamed of him. I also hate him for being sick, even though I KNOW it isn't his fault. I wish the old Grady Morrison Wallace, the funloving old man I knew, the man who brought us kids treats whenever he'd come and visit, or tell us bad jokes, would return; now all I see is a sick, scared, lonesome, decrepit old man who doesn't know who anyone is anymore; it is like he is living in his very own little world, and it really has me bummed.
Then people wonder why I am often so depressed or unhappy. Go figure...
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